Monday Morning 7.45am

Ruth lays smiling. She knows he is watching her. He's making no secret of it, propped on his elbow, eyes savouring every inch of her, wondering how his world had come so alive.

"Well," she says with a sigh, "I've tried you on for size."

"And?" he replies smugly.

"I'd suggest less things with custard."

He throws himself onto his back.

"I'd hoped for a little more than insults, Ruth."

She rolls onto her side to face him.

"Are you looking for compliments, Harry?"

"Might be," he says through pouting lips.

"You want me to tell you how it was worth waiting, what, six years for?"

"It'd be better than comments about custard, Ruth, yes."

"I'm sorry, I can't."

His eyes turn to her and the pout disappears.

"You can't?"

"No."

And as his eyes are lost to the ceiling she cannot bear to torment him anymore, she cannot bear to see the pain she has inflicted. Her hand runs across his chest.

"I'm a fool, Harry, I shouldn't have waited five minutes, let alone six years. If I'd known then what I know now, you could have had me anytime you wanted."

And the pout is back as his returning pride inflates it.

"Anytime?"

"Yes, anytime."

And suddenly she is on her back and he is above her, smiling, sparkling, full of devilment and mischief.

"But not now, Harry," she says patiently.

"Especially now," he growls.

"But we should have been at work fifteen minutes ago."

He looks at the clock and back at her.

"In that case, Ruth... you're sacked."

"But…"

"You're right, there should be a disciplinary panel first."

And he pins her hands beneath him and smiles.

"Now where shall I begin?"